Read Online The Man from Forever by Vella Munn - Free Book Online

capable of speaking.
    â€œGeneral Canby. You are part of him.”
    That, more than anything that had happened so far, chilled her. She fought the urge to slap his hand, fought to keep a grip on what little of her separate self remained. “What—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œYou carry his blood in your veins.”
    â€œWho told you that?”
    â€œIt is in your eyes and the beating of your heart.”
    Shaking, she ordered herself to wrench out of his grip, but her body refused to obey. Or maybe the truth was, she needed to feel his fingers on her more than she needed freedom and sanity. “It can’t—you can’t possibly know—”
    â€œThat is why you stood so long at the white man’s cross. And why your eyes said things better left hidden.”
    â€œWhat things?”
    â€œYou are looking for a piece of yourself, Tory Kent. But you are wrong!” His grip increased. Then, before even more fear assaulted her, he relaxed his hold but still didn’t free her. She felt wedded to him somehow, as if forces greater than both of them had determined that they would stand like this and say the things they were. “This man.” He jerked his head in the direction of the cross. “He knew nothing of the hearts of the Maklaks. He had no heart, not one that understood those whose land this was.”
    â€œI—I don’t know who you’ve been talking to or what they told you, but I don’t appreciate how you’re using a confidence.”
    â€œCon-fidence?”
    The way the word rolled off his tongue turned it beautiful, rich and tantalizing. But that might be a dangerous deception she didn’t dare let herself get lost in.
    He had to stop touching her. That was the trouble—a stranger was taking liberties with her, breaking through that invisible and yet necessary space that surrounds a person and is broached only when intimacy is wanted. Amazed by her perceptiveness in the face of this—this, whatever it was—she took a deliberate step backward. As before, he let her go. Relief flooded through her and yet she felt lost, as if she’d lost her rudder in life somehow. An avalanche of words boiled inside her, but she couldn’t sort them out enough to string any of them together. Her thoughts snagged on the eagle she’d spotted a few minutes ago, veered off into a memory of the one that had bedeviled her at the stronghold yesterday, splintered and resettled themselves on his knife.
    His knife. Why hadn’t she paid closer attention to it before? She studied the dusty black, opaque weapon now; concentrating on it was easier than gazing into his ageless and yet ancient eyes or learning how he had knowledge of her that he couldn’t possibly. Although some of the knife was hidden by the cord holding it in place against his warm flesh, she saw enough. No machine had made it; she was sure of that. Thin chunks had been sliced from it to create something long and deadly. It lacked visual symmetry and yet she had no doubt that it was perfectly balanced. She guessed it was possible that this man or whoever he was in cahoots with could have found a slab of obsidian and gone through the laborious task of turning rock into a knife, but there was no reason for them to go to that much trouble.
    Unless, this ancient-looking weapon was what the man used to keep himself alive.
    Cold sweat coated her body and forced her to concentrate on what he’d just told her about herself. “Look,” she began with less force than she wanted, “I don’t know why you’re doing what you are, but it’s time for the joke to end. It’sgood—believe me, you’re very, very good.” Too good. “But—but I don’t like it.”
    â€œYou came here looking for a part of yourself in the wind and rocks.”
    What? How could he know…?
    â€œHe is dead. You cannot find